Fragile
by FAIRxxVIEW
Summary: Back to work. Includes all RE6 characters, focused on Leon... torture, blood, language, psychological trauma, the like!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil_or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Due to the fact that the game is for mature audiences, and this fiction is a bit less, I believe, in content than the game, it is rated at a high T. That said, the rating covers gore, violence, torture, possible swearing, and psychological trauma. Individual warnings may be set in place for additional sections and/or chapters if the story is not a one-shot (I decide this stuff while writing. It's an author's sense xP).

* * *

**LEON POV (in case you didn't read the description ^^)**

I turned the corner around the shipping containers and looked back, ready to hold out an arm to stop Helena. She wasn't there. I froze, listening for the sound of her gun or the bullets clanging off of metal and plastic, but there was a sudden, startling silence across the docks. A cold feeling of dread penetrated my stomach and I spun, heading back in the direction I had come from. She had been right behind me, hadn't she? We had just shot down the agents protecting Simmons, and suddenly I was alone. Worried that she had gotten shot, I went back out to the front area. Nothing. Just lots of bullet cases, and a few of Simmon's security's corpses. I backed away, tapping my headset, and frowned. Usually I could hear a steady buzz, even a distant static that told me it was on and connected to the Satellite. But it was dead. Completely. I tried speaking into it just in case, but there wasn't any reaction at all. My tablet was dead, too. What the hell had just happened?

"Helena?" I shouted, gun raised in case an agent was still alive and heard my scream, but aside from the distant echo across the choppy waves of the sea, there was no other sound. The train had passed. Simmons was nowhere in sight. Of course, now, he was far from my mind.

That was, until I heard a safety click off and felt cold metal at the back of my neck. I froze on instinct, wondering how I hadn't noticed the agent approach. I was off my game with the sudden loss of Helena and all of my connection with the outside world - I hadn't been paying attention what was around me. Especially not to someone walking as quietly and swiftly as a leopard, stepping delicately, until he was close enough to breathe hot, thick air beside my ear. I felt a shiver.

"I think I've changed my mind. You're too important to be killed - now anyway," Simmons whispered, and I felt a thread of alarm. What did that mean?

Swallowing thickly, I wondered how quickly I could grab the knife in its compartment at my thigh and drive it into the side of his neck. Probably not fast enough for the bullet that would surely sever my upper spinal cord - and that wouldn't be very useful for me at all, now would it?

"What do you want?" I asked, surprised by how steady my voice was. If there were still agents around, and alive, I was screwed. If not, then I might be able to worm my way out of this mess. And then find Helena. And after that, find out why my headset and other devices weren't working at all.

"Your partner has something that is important to me. Tell me where she is, and I will kill you quickly - and her, too. If not..." He let the words trail off into an afterthought that I didn't pursue, but instead thought about critically. What was important to him? Was it the data file that Sherry had given us? Was he looking for that? It was the cure to the virus, apparently. Perhaps it was his, or he wanted it for his research... or he wanted to destroy it, because it was a threat to his business. I swallowed hard. Helena had that - how had he known?

"And what makes you think I know where she is, seeing as I just spent the last few minutes trying to find her?" I growled, annoyed. For someone who planned out disasters, he was estranged to anything that involved critical thinking - or perhaps just thinking in general.

How ironic.

Simmons growled like an animal, and I felt my chance. Whether he was going to hit me across the head or shoot a limb, I wasn't sure, but the moment I felt the metal leave the edges of my skin, I struck. My elbow slammed back into the flesh between his ribs, and I heard his grunt of pain and felt his sharp exhale. I spun, bringing my knee up, and, dug it deep into his abdomen, as my other arm connected with his gun arm, jerking it to the side just as he fired. The gunshot deafened me and sent a ringing through my left ear, but I squeezed his arm hard enough to make him drop the weapon.

To my surprise, he wasn't all political waste. His fist socked me in the jaw before I could even see it coming, sending stars in front of my eyes. It wasn't a completely debilitating move, but it prevented me from seeing and preparing for the real strike.

The boot hit my kneecap and I felt a horrifying pain and fear sweep through me, as the fragile bones snapped and rocked inward, splitting, separating, crunching. I fell to the ground, an agonized howl tearing from my throat until pressure on my stomach punched the air from my lungs and I lay gasping and coughing, curled around myself, holding the useless joint. Training deserted me for a moment as my imagination took over. How easy would it be for a bone to pierce the blood vessels running behind the kneecap, severing it, making blood pour out of me like a fountain? A moment later I snapped back into focus, sucking in a breath, forcing the pain back.

Simmons. My knife. I grabbed it from my pocket and plunged it into his hip bone, and he let out a furious shout, wrenching me to my feet, slamming me against the container. That's when I saw, though my blurred and exhausted and pain-dimmed vision the dark people emerging in their suits and ties, guns drawn. I knew it was over. It was over the moment he broke my knee.

I couldn't find with a wound like that. I couldn't run either. The knife was an act of rage and fleeting adrenaline, wanting to cause him pain too. It had worked. But now I felt dread, because I could see, quite clearly, the hate in his eyes - and knew that I was completely at his mercy.

Any aggressive movement would get me shot.

He was holding me by collar of my jacket, one fist pressed rather hard against my throat, making me cough reflexively and try to twist my head away. He grabbed me harder, and suddenly gave me a violent shake, making my teeth rattle and sending hot pain through my entire lower leg. I grunted, fury rampaging through me. If I could just kick him away, I might have the leverage to... fall on my ass and get my brains blown out.

No, bad idea.

I just had to wait.

"I'll give you one more chance. Where is your partner?" Simmons literally hissed in my ear, and I took a moment to wonder when this calm, steady and proper government agent had turned into this snarling, hissing beast.

"I don't know," I said, bracing myself.

I had expected to get hit in the face. I had not, however, expected him to suddenly grab my broken knee and squeeze, all the while holding me up by my throat by one hand. I would have screamed in pain if I hadn't have been choking and gagging, unable to draw in the air for the scream. Cringing, I felt my body recoiling in extreme pain, and I managed only to let out a whimper, lights in my eyes that were different from before.

I had learned over the years that there were many different levels of pain.

A dull pain, like bumping an elbow into a wall. A stinging pain, like being slapped in the face. A biting pain... like being bit. And then three extremes. Hot pain, like getting spat on by the zombies with boiling liquid. White hot pain, like someone pressing a hot iron on skin - hard. Red hot pain, like having broken bones get ground together, turning my vision into a spotted field of bright red. Fortunately the pain didn't last, because my lungs had expended all the air I possibly had, and my consciousness faded.

* * *

I woke to cold, bright lights, and a passive ache. Shivering, I curled into myself, closing my eyes and wishing I could go back into unconsciousness, where the pain couldn't reach. The lights burned through my eyelids, blazing through my senses, and I couldn't get myself to go back. So I opened them, forcing myself into the world to observe and figure out where I am and how to get out.

It was a white room, no windows, and impossibly small. Tiny. How could there possibly be air in this room? I breathed heavily, gulping air like it was going out of style - and who the hell knew if there was enough in there to sustain me?

I wasn't sure how long I lay there, limp with pain, when the door suddenly opened.

I peered blearily for a moment, holding back the headache that came with being choked into unconsciousness. While I couldn't focus, someone had crossed the room in two easy strides and grabbed me by the arm, hauling me to my feet. I cried out, pain lancing through my broken bones, and I almost stumbled over myself. None-too-gently the person dragged me from the room to a white hall. I wasn't going to let this scientist drag me around so he could experiment on me, or anything of that sort.

So I twisted, ramming my elbow violently into the man's side, and he snarled in pain, dropping me - quite literally. He had taken most of my weight, and now I was sprawling to the ground, unable to support myself on one leg. Scrabbling backwards, I raised one arm defensively and sought for a weapon with the other. A foot planted on my chest and I coughed painfully, squinting up at the smug man smiling above me. His expression was satisfied. Simmons had the look on his face of a master teaching its pet to behave in order.

"How do you suppose I beat this defiance out of you?" He said, a hint of a sneer in his voice, leaning more of his weight onto me.

I coughed hard, then snarled up at him. "You're a pathetic excuse for a man!" The weight somehow increased, and I groaned.

"And look whose on the floor, looking up at me," Simmons hissed. I was kicked in the ribs, rolled onto my back, and something like a zip-tie bound my wrists together. "In a few days, we'll see what kind of man you are," he whispered in my ear. Then I was hauled, blinded for a moment by a stunning wave of pain, and shoved into another room. I had enough time to take a breath before I was shoved face first to the ground before teeth gnashed dangerously close to my face, and rotten flesh snarled and wailed ravenously at me. The zombie wailed again, sending pure terror shuddering down my spine as I jolted backwards towards the door. It slammed shut behind me, sealing me into the room with the infected, who wailed, moaned, and cried out in hunger and a piteous, animal sadness.

In pitch darkness, I huddled as close to the wall as I could, shivering uncontrollably - and not just from the cold this time - as hands grabbed at me and tried to drag me towards their hungry mouths. This couldn't be happening. Locked in a room, bound, curled into a ball and cowering against a door, with zombies all around me, ready to turn me. I couldn't stop the fear threatening to bust a new hole in my heart, couldn't prevent the terror from making me cry out...

And I couldn't stop the infected from crawling slowly up my legs.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Psychological triggers in this chapter, with the possibility of torture and language.

* * *

**LEON POV**

Dead hands clung tightly to my defenseless body, no matter how I kicked or thrashed, gasping with each panicked breath. My wrists burned as blood slid from the lacerations, but the tie didn't loosen and I couldn't get my hands free. A hand reached my face, and heavy bodies were covering me. Their wailing, whining and moaning reminded me of a lost puppy in pain, but I could still hear the jaws clacking and felt them scrabbling at my skin to take a bite. The stench of death and rot was suffocating, but I could only writhe and thrash feebly. Hot breath hit my face, thick with the stench of flesh, and I cried out, bucking my body, trying to dislodge the zombies. But they were everywhere, climbing on my legs, sending pain rippling through my knee. I jerked my head to the side, eyes shut tight even though I couldn't see, breathing hard and facing the floor. The whining was in my ear.

A mouth was at my throat, and no matter how I struggled, it wouldn't move. My body was so tense I thought my muscles would burst. And then it bit me, a soft, squelching that didn't break my skin. I shuddered in horror, as its gums closed repeatedly over my neck, whining as it did so, while others crawled over my body trying to do the same thing.

A realization dawned on me - it didn't have _teeth_. Is this what Simmons meant, by a few days? They couldn't bite me, so they couldn't kill me - even though I could still hear the clacking of teeth somewhere in front of my face. I forced myself to face the floor - if their saliva got in my eyes or mouth - or any open pore, really, it'd be all over. My bound wrists were squeezed between my body and the door, unreachable. And that point, struggling was impossible. There were just too many of them, and they were all too heavy. My heart still raced and my breathing was rapid and panicked.

More came, biting at my open skin, and even my clothing, but they were toothless. Still, the feeling of drooling, bloodied gums against my throat, neck and over my body made me sick to my stomach and even more horrified. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't hold back my own panicked whimpers, and for a long, long time, I lay covered in infected bodies.

* * *

Whether it had been hours or days, I didn't know. The weight of the bodies had gradually grown to the point I could hardly breath, and my uncontrollable shaking was borderline a seizure. I had a few other problems, however. My throat was raw from gasping and dry to the point I couldn't swallow, and my stomach cramped at something between throwing up and being hungry. Due to the events of the past few days, food and water had been minimal, and I was definitely feeling it now, despite the nausea from my current situation. But there was a more pressing matter than being dehydrated and starving. My bladder was fit to burst, and I would be damned if I was going to piss myself on the floor like a whipped pet. Writhing in discomfort as well as fear, I tried to keep myself tightly locked in. I hadn't been able to sleep since they'd dropped me in here, and that only made my concentration worse. Too exhausted to focus, too scared to sleep.

Something clicked.

I opened one eye carefully, and saw a thin beam of light across the floor. I heard a _tsking_, and then felt bodies getting kicked off of me.

"Such a shame. I would've expected you to have killed them all already. Perhaps I overestimated your abilities," Simmons said, with a full sneer in his voice that told me he had kept no such expectations. He just wanted to get a rise out of me. So be it.

"Go to hell," I snarled, as I was dragged unceremoniously from the room and dumped in the hallway again.

His smirk sent ripples of alarm and anger through me. At least I was out of the room, however, away from those toothless... things.

"So much spirit still... so much too destroy," he said, half to himself, and I could almost see the crazy reflecting in his eyes. I was still shaking, and was fighting desperately with myself to not lose my bladder right in front of him. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be in the business of wanting to get urine all over the floor.

"First things first," he said, and I was roughly dragged to my feet, stabbing pains jolting into my knee, and the ties were cut. Fresh air in the lacerations stung, and my shoulders burned from being pulled back too hard. "Five minutes." I was lifted almost completely off the ground and was thrown, quite literally, into a different room. I sprawled as I landed, grunting first before a whimper betrayed my defiance act, and found myself literally in a restroom.

Thank God.

Walking was difficult, and just about impossible without a wall, door, or other thing to support me. I didn't dare to test if I could take any weight - the break would get worse if I tried. Finished, I hardy had the time to lean, shaking like a leaf, against the sink to wash my hands before someone snarled through the door for me to hurry up. I felt cold dread. There were no mirrors, so I couldn't see my reflection. I turned to half crawl, half limp to the door. It opened before I got there and once again I was shoved to the ground and dragged.

I felt a strong pang of terror. Were they going to put me back into that room?

I had half a mind and even less strength to start to struggle, and that was cut down to nothing as a fist buried into my gut. Coughing, gagging and wheezing, I went completely limp, whimpering automatically with every straining breath.

"Weak," Simmons hissed.

Aggression swept through me, as well as a smart-ass remark that I knew I shouldn't spit out...but it came out anyway.

"And what does that make you? Getting your plans ruined by a 'weak' man?" I snarled.

I was most certain I was going to pay for that. And so I did. Simmons grabbed me by the throat, slamming me against the hard wall once, twice - a third time. My head bounced off the wall, making me cringe and sending darts of pain from my skull down to my neck. I forced my eyes open, glaring him in the face - and finally saw him clearly for the first time. Clearly enough that I suddenly realized that something about him was different. He looked like a 3D jigsaw puzzle, with red running between each section of his skin. His eyes were red. Vaguely, I understood that he was infected.

"You will tell me what I want to know, whether it takes hours, or days, or weeks."

Cold dread. The truth was, I didn't know where Helena was. But he clearly didn't believe me, or he didn't care.

"What is on the file?" He hissed at me.

Oh. That was different. I had expected him to ask me where Helena was again - though surely that would have been a foolish question seeing as I've been here... for what? Days already? Judging by how thirsty I was, it had been at least 24 hours. My stomach was cramping in a violent way, only added to my rather extreme discomfort - though I had an idea that it would only be getting worse later.

"Proof that you're an asshole," I spat. Despite my position and obvious defenselessness, I wasn't going to give in and start acting like he had beaten me. I promised myself already that I would never give in to his demands.

His smirk, however, was positively chilling.

"I suspected as much," he growled, releasing me so I slid sluggishly to the ground. From beside me, I heard a sound that made my spine tingle and sent panic screaming through me. A hissing, snarling, high pitched wail, followed by heavy pawsteps on the floor. I didn't want to look, but I forced myself to. A licker - a godamned _licker!_ - was prowling towards me, long tongue flicking around. I stared at it, heart racing, noticing its long, quick strides. The second thing I noticed was that it had no claws - or teeth. Simmons didn't want me dead. I had a feeling this thing could still kill me. I was distinctly aware of Simmons and his agents leaving, disappearing the way they came. I rolled onto my back, dragging myself away, raising an arm defensively as its long tongue suddenly swept at me.

I wrapped around my arm instead of my throat, and I was immediately flung through the air, faster than I could see, and I collided into the wall right beside it. Groaning, I searched for something - anything - I could find to beat it back.

It leaped on me, toothless jaws slavering, enormous weight pinning me to the ground.

Its tongue swept towards my throat.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Yargh! More torture! Language. Broken bones and blood! Bringing in some help though! Poor poor Leon. :)

* * *

**LEON POV**

Tight. Too hard. I gasped in a breath sharply, before all air was cut off, and clawed at it with one hand while still searching the ground for a kind of weapon. Its muscles rippled beneath its skin - flesh - and it was wailing continuously as it tried to strangle me. One mess after another, and I had only a very, very slim chance of surviving this one. Unless... something wooden was at the tips of my fingers, and I grasped for it. When it jerked away with the momentum of my movement, I knew I could lift it. Quickly - my lungs burned for air and my vision was blurring. I grabbed it, closing my hand. And then plunged it into the licker's flesh.

It shrieked in pain and rage, releasing me, spinning away for a moment as it focused on the wooden splint that I had embedded into the side of its head. It wasn't a killing blow by any means, but it was enough to distract it so I could breathe and get my bearings back on the world. First I looked around me. There was a hammer, rusty and old, lying against the corner of the room opposite of me. I looked between the snarling licker and myself.

I lurched forward, dragging my knee behind me and kicking for purchase on the ground, trying to grab it.

I might have had more luck just standing still. The tongue wrapped around my ankle - of the same leg my broken knee was - and pulled. Hard. I hadn't braced myself in time to hold back the pain, so I screamed at the burning, rippling sensation throughout the broken bones of the joint, all renewed by having my leg stretched and pulled on. It dangled me nearly upside down for a moment, which was an unpleasant experience to the extreme, almost sending me into shock, and only made me yell and thrash and scream even harder. If I had thought about it more, thrashing and flailing would have been the _last_thing I should have done, seeing as the extra weight from my momentum which would only add to the pain and stress. I, however, was pretty much out of energy to control myself, make a plan, make a decision, or anything of the sort. My world was alive with pain and exhaustion. Training deserted the conscious world.

It finally dropped me. The fire racing from knee joint to ankle and hip make my eyes tear up. I coughed, wanting to lurch to my feet and defend myself, but couldn't move the entire leg at all. That worried me for the split second in which it mattered before my awareness exploded with stars, and I was knocked into the wall. Only when I could see again did I notice it prowling slowly towards me, tongue flickering in and out as it walked, each step gradual.

It was playing with me, like I was a new toy to be thrown around.

That didn't really make me feel any better.

* * *

I don't remember losing consciousness, but I must have. The next thing I was aware of was pain thrumming through my entire body, and a rough hand slapping me hard across the face. I groaned in response, hardly aware that I was being manhandled rather coldly before being dropped to the floor. I tried to move, struggle to my feet or just sit up, but I was pinned by more than one person. There were voices everywhere, and I was faintly relieved that I wasn't being attacked by the dead and infected again, but at the same time, I knew humans weren't completely safe to deal with either. If anything, they were worse, because they were at least conscious and thinking when they made their decisions, as opposed to instinctive, mindless zombies.

I was sure of one thing. There was a pain in my lower back that frightened me - where had that come from? I wish I could remember what had gone on before waking up, but really the only thing I saw was the licker stalking towards me - and that gave me almost no information.

I was worried I had been bit or infected by... something...

When I tried to open my eyes, the lights were way too bright and I thought my retinas had burned out. I immediately shut them, wincing, turning my head away. Ugh. When would this nightmare be over?

"Hold still. X-9 nearly ripped your arm off," a voice, that wasn't Simmons, said. I had a feeling X-9 was the name or code or number of the licker - these idiots _named_their beasts? I was starting to ask a question but they shoved something in my mouth - hard and thick and rubbery. "Bite down on that." The same voice said. I didn't understand what was going on. My brain was in fog, and my body numb in every place where the pain couldn't send signals back into my overworked nervous system.

There was a snap - multiple snaps, actually - and my completely numb arm suddenly exploded into pain at the shoulder join, with missiles of feeling and agony shooting through the nerves all the way to the tips of my fingers.

I would have screamed out, but managed to clamp my jaws tight around the rubber and simply wailed instead. In my slightly delirious, very wounded position, I no longer cared so much about holding back all my sounds. I would, however, draw the line at screaming like a little girl, even if I was pretty sure not even an enemy would judge my current cries. Of course, I wouldn't know that for sure...

"You're lucky. He had you down and was slamming you right on your lower back - could have broken your spine if we hadn't gotten there right away," the doctor or scientist said.

_Oh yes. How lucky. A broken spine would actually have made this a hell of a lot easier - and..._another slap jolted me from my thoughts and I flinched, jerking away from the offending hand. The rubber thing was pulled from my mouth and I breathed in hard, relieved to feel air washing down my throat, unencumbered. There were questions racing through my mind, but some were louder than others. In particular... how the hell was I going to get out of this freak-show alive? I was running out of strength, energy, and I couldn't take being beaten around much longer. Simmons had to know he wasn't going to get anything out of me...

Someone slapped me again.

I held back a snarl and opened my eyes, squinting hard against the light. A rather plain man looked disdainfully down at me, black hair spotting his head, eyes even more dark. Reddish. Great.

"You are not allowed to rest." He half stated, half ordered, and he left the room with two other scientists behind him. I let out a half-growl of characteristic, overtired annoyance and rolled onto my side. Like hell I wasn't going to rest. I soon realized every little movement I made sent huge waves of pain down my lower back. Eventually I was forced to lay still, breathing shallowly, wishing to hell someone would just bomb this place right off the face of the planet, ending my pain along with its existence. _That's quitter's talk, Leon..._my mind reprimanded, though I simply decided to ignore, not even understanding the fact that my exhaustion had gotten to the point that I was literally driving myself insane.

"Ah, Agent Kennedy," Simmons voice interrupted my argument with myself. "You look a lot worse than you did the last time I saw you. I assume you've toned down that attitude of yours a bit," he said thoughtfully.

I opened my eyes and gave him a a glare filled with as much state as I could muster, which must have looked terribly intimidating in my current state... his laugh only added to that.

"It would benefit greatly to your health if you just told me what I wanted to know... otherwise..." he began, and then abruptly cut himself off. Several things happened at once. His jigsaw puzzle of a body began to separate into pieces even further, flesh springing out of him. His form became something like a small wolf, with rotted, disgusting flesh creating the bulk of his form and his human head somewhere off to the side. It was disgusting.

And terrifying.

And I couldn't twitch a muscle to get away from him.

"You will tell me now. Where is your partner?"

So we were back to square one again. Great. Though from what I could tell, he just wanted an excuse to pummel my pulp into a juice. One fleshy claw placed itself over my face, to very tip just inches - no, _milimeters_from my eyeball. I made several frantic movements to get away, none of which appeared as anything beyond a feeble shuffle. If that claw entered my eye...

"Right behind you," a familiar, heavenly, and pissed off female voice said. It was enough to make the claw move away, and turn Simmons around. I shut my eyes and wished I'd had the ability to cover my ears as the shotgun went off.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Hey, the pain is good for him! Some pain, etc... a bit toned now here though.

* * *

**LEON POV**

His head was turned in a way that it couldn't be a straight shot between the eyes. The shotgun round did, however, rip his lower jaw right out of his head. The blood spattered me as Simmons stumbled, crying out with guttural pain, his form slowly shrinking until he returned into himself. A bloody jigsaw puzzle on the floor. I stared at him for a moment, before the squinting reminded me of the jarring pains stabbing at my brain and skull. I raised them, towards the door, to where Helena fired another round. More splatter. I cringed, jerking my head away from the blood out of fear it would get in my eyes or nose or mouth – though I had so many open wounds by now it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

"Leon?" Helena's voice sounded concerned, borderline horrified. She walked towards me, gingerly stepping over Simmons unmoving body. Something told me he wasn't going to stay down forever.

"Helena," I began, or at least tried to say, but it came out as a choke. Dehydration. My mouth was as dry as the desert sand, and I was burning up on the inside about as much as I was outside. That didn't stop me from trying to speak, though, despite the pain threatening to rule my body a little longer. "What…"

Two shapes moved into the room, and I stiffened and tried to warn her. But their bodies were bulky, with weapons in their hands, good gear on their backs. Chris and his new partner, whose name I hadn't yet figured out, entered the room. And now it seemed a hell of a lot less dangerous – four people was a lot better than two, especially if one of them couldn't really fight.

Chris looked at me and seemed to wince. Earlier, there had been something dark, cold and angry in his eyes. Something raw with hate, when he had looked at Ada. Saying she had killed all his men. I hadn't seen what he had seen. But most of that darkness was gone now, replaced by his intense, professional stare. But there was also the look that friends gave each other, that hadn't been completely destroyed by training, fighting, and loss.

Loss… we hadn't seen much of each other before this mess. What had happened over the year he had been gone, fighting in another part of the world while I was helping the president?

"Damn, you look like hell," Chris said, lowering his rifle, and stepping into the room. Although his voice was naturally that masculine sarcasm, he was concerned, which made my muscles knot uncomfortably.

"Yeah, I…" I was going to get out another wise remark, seeing as it was my natural defense against… everything… but I made the mistake to try and sit up. My vision blurred as I was met by such a stiff twist of pain in my lower back that I wondered if I really had broken something – the pain radiated from the spot, down across my pelvis and even to my upper thighs, and up to my shoulder blades. I had completely frozen, every muscle stiff, aside from my arm which had more breaks in it than I cared to know – I could feel it, but couldn't move it. A groan. It took me a moment to realize it had come from me.

"Damnit, hold still," Chris ordered, when I was able to hear again, and I noticed that he had taken my good arm and had it wrapped around his shoulder. He lifted me as slowly as he could manage, though my world still swirled with explosions and I had grabbed his vest – shirt – tightly in one fist. So tightly that I lost almost complete feeling in my fingers. I had managed not to scream, however, which I decided was at least saving whatever tiny scraps remained of my pride.

"What is this slimy shi-?" Chris asked, sounding disgusted. I had no idea what he was talking about at first… and then I remembered having been literally gnawed on, licked, and drooled on by a hell of a lot of zombies – not to mention the licker, too.

"Zombie spit," I responded faintly, though even with those simply words my voice had slurred. I either had a concussion or I was going to lose consciousness soon due to the pain – more likely both.

"Ugh," Chris said, sounding disgusted, and due to being a little light headed, I almost wanted to giggle. Instead, I had to focus on moving.

I did try my best to walk with him. I really did. It wasn't actually as hard as it should have been. Given his height, by far superior to my own, my injured leg was actually off the ground a little, and I simply threw all my weight onto him as I tried to stumble. At any other time I would have resisted from doing anything of the sort – weakness was not something that men liked to share with anyone else – but at the moment I was too tired, too thirsty, too hungry, too sick and hurt to care. I just wanted to get out of here. And burn it to the ground behind me.

Helena was ahead of us, looking for trouble, and the other soldier was behind us, keeping an eye out for what might be a rebirth of Simmons. Which would be just what we all needed right now.

"When's the last time you ate anything?" Chris asked, sounding… concerned, puzzled, angry, alarmed?

"I don't remember," I responded, slightly out of breath. Partially walking was exercise – it hurt a lot. And I really didn't remember. Probably on the plane, if I had to think about it. But thinking wasn't in line with my body's plans, at this time.

"Yeah, feels like it." He sounded angry. At me?

"Get down!" The soldier suddenly shouted, and Chris dropped beside me. And I did too. Lancing pain in my back and knee took my breath away, and I lay momentarily stunned, half aware of gunshots, a weight on my back, and dizzying shouts and orders from all around the room. Something ugly and red splattered to the ground in a mess of blood in front of me. Its long tongue was stretched out before it, but it was almost completely limp. Dead.

Silence. My throbbing head appreciated it, though I was pretty sure the rest of my body didn't give much of a damn. The weight lifted, and I drew in a shaky breath, hoping we had just avoided someone getting hurt.

"All clear," the soldier said, and I heard guns reloading.

"Up you go," Chris spoke almost cheerfully, helping me back to my feet and sending the bright lights burning in my eyes again. Dizzy. Passing out was starting to be a very entertaining idea. Coughing rattled me, driven on by the Mars-dryness of my mouth and throat.

"Hey, don't puke on me," Chris complained, but some of the lightness was gone, and his tone had become doubtful and worried.

Right. Coughing was a symptom of infection. Though I wasn't infected.

"No water… at all here," I tried to say, even though the meaning was rather cryptic. I wanted to say that I needed a drink of water because I hadn't had one since I got here, but my ability to speak was as limited as my ability to swallow – which was another painful issue. If the sides of my throat cracked open and bled, it would be a relief in my body to have some water base inside it.

We suddenly stopped walking.

"They didn't give you water? It's been almost five days, how are you still alive?" He said, fumbling with something in his jacket. It was a common belief that after three days with no water (or form of nutrients or drink), the person would die, or start to die. Some people could push a little beyond that limit, and some couldn't even get to two days. Five days? I hadn't been sure, when being piled on by zombies, how long I had been in that room. A long time, maybe. Due to my arm being set after seeing the licker, that hadn't been a long unconsciousness either. There must be a huge time lapse in my mind.

I started shaking again, still feeling the toothless gums on my skin and hearing the wails in the back of my thoughts.

A canteen. Filled with water, and by whatever beloved gods were out there, clean, was at my lips. I swallowed a few gulps, which burned badly on the way down, but somehow managed to spill a lot of it down my face. My lips were too numb for me to control. It simply dribbled right down my chin. The next gulp hurt less, and woke that ache in my stomach that reminded me I needed a lot more.

But I forced myself to stop. We couldn't stand around drinking water – and if I drank too much after going without any, it would cause vicious stomach cramps that would probably, in my state, make me lay down and wish to die.

"Go," I coughed, feeling a sudden chill against my spine.

"No, you should stay," a slow, smug, arrogant voice hissed, and I jolted in panic.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: I cannot help the whump! Pain, pain, pain! And as always, a chance for some language. (by the way, excuse any weirdness in this chapter, I'm sick as a dog with pneumonia) (:

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**LEON POV**

I was smashed to the ground by something making contact with my back, pitching me forward. The whiplash was enough to stun me so I couldn't even feel the pain, just for a moment, and I lay still, somehow noting Chris rolling to his feet right beside me. The shooting was all behind me. I instinctively searched for one of my guns before remembering they had all been taken from me, and the sudden uselessness of my situation dawned on me. Damn.

I was dead weight.

I managed to partially roll onto my back, but Chris was half holding me down as he shielded my body from the new monstrosity that Simmons, somehow regenerating his lower jaw, had turned into. Disgusting. And this was a man who somehow managed to think he was 'superior' to everyone else? Heck, in the vaguest sense, he wasn't even a man anymore. He was a creature, a monster, an infected zombie-human creature. I flinched, curling protectively in on myself, as the ceiling was torn by one of his long, arching forearms and claws, sending wood and plaster and tile falling down over us. And bodies. Many, many bodies.

Chris did his best to knock away anything that looked like it could crush my skull, but he was eventually drawn back to shooting Simmons and holding him back. That left me, with my suddenly piss-poor luck lately, open for a zombie to come crashing down on my chest, scaring the hell out of me and making me yelp. It had no eyes. Its mouth was filled with blood, but there were no teeth.

I horror I realized that these were the things that had been in the first room I had gotten stuck in. I wrestled weakly with it, with only one arm available, my muscles at approximate a tenth of their usual strength. Its slobbering, gushing jaws opened and closed just above my face, but all I really had to do was put my hand on its forehead and keep it from getting close to my mouth. It was a bit easier than trying to completely push it off, and was all I could handle at the moment. As long as no others stumbled over to me, I would be all set for the next couple of minutes, even as its stings of saliva flew at me, literally grossing me out. It wailed at me, the same, terrible sound that suddenly made me stiffen in panic and feel that suffocating terror wash over me again.

"Leon!" Helena shouted, sounding concerned, inching her way over to me. It snapped me out of the daze and I managed to push the gaping jaws away from my face again, glancing over at her.

"I've got it," I wheezed, voice cracking with stress. So much stress. My world went black for a moment. Something landed literally across the upper part of my body, slamming the zombie harder towards me and making me yelp in alarm. I thrashed in panic, the zombies mouth on my chin, and jerked my head to the side as a shudder ran up my spine.

"Sorry," Chris's partner said. I managed to read the name on his uniform, at least. _Piers._

The kid smashed the zombie off of me with one hand, making me grimace in acknowledgement of how weak I was. He looked around, glanced at me, and handed me a small gun. "Get back against the wall and shoot anything that comes towards you," he ordered. By anything, he meant the half dozen or so zombies that were crawling half-heartily over the broken floor.

I nodded, breathed in deeply to try and catch my breath, and began to crawl backwards. I had one working arm and one working leg - it was hard, and incredibly unpleasant. Even more-so as several zombies began to crawl in my direction. A large, bloody palm slammed over my face and I almost screamed. I managed, however, to end it off at a strangled yelp and roll to the side, twisting my wounded limbs beneath me so that I felt my awareness drone off in a great wave of agony. It crawled towards me, groaning. And I noticed something. A collar around its neck, a chain behind it dragging a large nail embedded in a small piece of stone. Its teeth clacked. It was the only one in that entire room that had teeth, and I managed to focus through the pain to aim my gun.

The bullet splattered its brains over the wall behind it. I was disoriented for a second by the exhausting movement of all of this, and began to turn to crawl again. And it moved into line right in front of me. The scientist, the one with the red eyes. One of its hands had turned to a mass of claws and flesh, and it had several eyes spotting over its face. It looked down at me with a sneer. I froze, unable to react in time.

It grabbed me around my chest and lifted me to my feet, pinning my gun arm to my side and the other broken one simply dangling uselessly from my shoulder joint. I grimaced as he bared his teeth - long, sharp, thin fangs.

"Looks like I must exterminate our little pest, here," it hissed, and I wondered what I had done to piss off this scientist. Perhaps he was under mind control, like Simmons. Or perhaps he really did believe strongly in this little plan they had, and was a huge part of the entire thing. That made him not just a scientist, but something of a higher up in Simmons' organization - a leader. A planner. Just another monster.

"Who are you?" I rasped, cringing as the grip tightened around my already aching ribs.

"I'm the one who ordered the bombing of Tall Oaks. Now, my pet. I was supposed to have a long time with you, but your idiot friends have ruined that. You could have been _mine_," he hissed, rancid breath in my face, and I coughed.

My vision was blurring, the strength of his grip sending darts of pain throughout my entire torso.

"I hate to interrupt your fun," a cocky, strong voice drawled from behind the scientist, "but you're in my way." A moment later I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, coughing hard from pain, and curled up on myself in an effort to weakly protect what was left of me.

Vaguely I saw blood spraying everywhere

And somewhere, a small feminine voice that I remembered from many years ago as a child's voice spoke somewhere close to me. "Leon, oh God..."

It didn't go black like they often said it does. Everything went red.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Oooh... some grossness... blood... ick... etc . The usual. (:

Author's Note: Holy cow, a different point of view! I felt that the story needed a little... outsider information. So they could see from someone who wasn't half-blind, half-conscious, etc, what was going on on the outside world. And because I am lazy and have yet to get through the entire Jake campaign, I decided to challenge myself and use him. I apologize if not everything is up to his character... I'm still on chapter 1 on his campaign, so don't bite too hard. (; ENJOY and thanks so far for the reviews! :)

* * *

**JAKE POV**

I hadn't really expected much when I entered the building that looked like it had been abandoned for years. Zombies swarmed all around it, too slow to be much of a problem for either of us. The sound of gunfire was rough in the hallway upstairs, however, and despite the fact that I remained as calm and indifferent on the outside as I always did, I felt that something was very wrong. We had run into a BSAA unit just yesterday, and they told us what was going on. Though I didn't really like Leon that much – I didn't really like many people that much – I knew I couldn't just stand around and do nothing. And Sherry knew him, from Raccoon City, and I couldn't just _not_ help when she found out. I would never live it down if it looked like I didn't care, so I simply put on my indifferent act and said I'd go because I was being paid. Cold-hearted bastard I sounded like in words, but that's only because of all my training, all I've seen, all I've had to live through.

Being the son of a man who had caused thousands of deaths in the past few years wasn't easy. Even worse was the fact that, because of some silly, human feeling sometimes called 'love', or maybe fear, I was still stuck in that childish world of pleasing and protecting my father. Some would call me evil, like he was, but they couldn't know… it was a human thing, that most people often forgot.

With the overpowered magnum, which was an Elephant Killer, or something like that, I headed swiftly up the stairs, Sherry right behind me. She had the stun rod in her hands, something that I had learned the hard way to not get in the way of.

I heard a hissing, snarling voice – the kind that told me some kind of mutated infected was up ahead, in the area of the gunshots. I scowled, wondering what kind of facility these people ran. Did they really purposely infect people to make themselves stronger? It was shocking how quickly, how easily, people would give up their humanity in exchange for power. Not that I was completely human or anything.

We got there just in time to see some weird thing that was mostly human, except for his arm which was a twisted mass of zombie-flesh, and a hand the size of a large trash can. And claws. How he could walk with that kind of deformity was beyond me, though right now he was holding up what looked like a hell-beaten Leon in his hand. Without wasting another second collecting information, I put the magnum at the back of his neck and pulled the trigger. His brains shot out into the air above his head, and it dropped to the ground in a dying wail. I hardly noticed Leon dropping limply to the floor as the clawed hand swung towards my head. Kicking it away easily, I jumped out of the way as Sherry sunk the business end of the stun rod into the rather large hold in its head. I saw several eyeballs scattered all over his face, like the J'avo, before the burst in the rush of electricity.

The rest of the creature burst soon after.

Sherry turned to Leon, who seemed to be unconscious. Blood was caked onto the side of his face, over his neck and in stringy strands through his once dirty-blonde hair. He was bruised around his jaw and I could see more bruises up the side of his face and on his head beneath the blood, which apparently wasn't his own. If it was, I'd already be able to sense the infection in him. Instead, I saw from what wasn't covered by clothing, that there were several breaks in his arm. His breathing was ragged, indicating a broken rib or a few – those were hard to count without actually going in and setting them. I wasn't really sure about anything else, but there was an unnatural angle about one of his legs.

Ouch. Perhaps it was a good thing we had come after all. I wasn't a major fan of having people, who weren't my enemies (not exactly) in pain. Nor was I into letting my 'employer' cheat me and my partner into helping him cover up an attack on thousands… tens of thousands… of innocent people.

Truthfully, I shouldn't be caring. As a mercenary, the money was 'supposed' to be all that was important. I wondered if Sherry's personality was rubbing off on me.

Damn.

"Simmons," Sherry growled, looking across the room. I turned my attention towards the other infected… thing… that seemed to be throwing a tantrum just down the hall. I wasn't sure if it was supposed to be a giraffe or an octopus, because it had 8 legs, four on the ground, 4 flying in every known direction. The human head that had once belonged to Simmons was floating around on one of the legs, all jig-saw puzzle like, with his skin separated at the seams by running blood – muscle, maybe. His eyes were red. Beyond that was another head, with the gaping mouth of a bear (or what I would imagine to be a dragon, if we lived in Medieval times, which might actually be happening sometime soon if we didn't stop this nonsense), all fangs and tongue and blood. It screeched and snarled, driven back repeatedly by an endless torrent of bullets.

Piers was firing some anti-material sniper rifle, which clearly hurt like hell by the way Simmons was jerking back from it. Chris fired an assault shotgun, with sharp, loud recoils hitting at every trigger. That hurt too. He was trying to shoot off the extra legs. The woman that was Leon's partner, whose name I couldn't remember, was firing an AK-74* like thing, the bullets keeping it and any part of it from getting too close.

Good combination, but they were shooting at all the wrong things.

I could see the virus-pod or sack on its upper back, hidden behind its shoulder blades. That what had to be hit. It was kind of like a pressure point, sending the creature into extreme pain, and it ended their mutation for some time. It would also give us a better ability to kill it. I wasn't sure how we could kill him right yet, but cutting his body into different pieces and separating them seemed to be a good start – it would at least give us some time to get out of here before he mutated into something bigger, stronger and uglier. See, thinking. And some people thought I couldn't do it.

"Hello ugly," I said, gracefully calm, walking up between Piers and the woman. It turned towards me for a second, hissed, and promptly stumbled due to a strong magnum shot to its head. I sighed the yellow mass, and pulled.

It burst apart like some disgusting mess and it showered itself in infected fluids. Those who weren't immune would have to keep their distance when attacking those, less they get some in their eyes or mouths and start turning into a zombie-mutation themselves. I wondered why Simmons had even wanted to infect himself, because eventually he would lose control, and that wouldn't be very good business for him, would it?

He screamed, a wail with multiple voices and tones seeming to pitch together all at once. And then he shriveled, parts of himself literally just melting away. What was left was a man that was barely held together by the stitches of the virus, and it would be just so easy to rip those apart…

And then…

"Get down!" Someone shouted, and I ducked just as a huge zombie-dog leaped out of nowhere at me. It had sharp, slicing fangs and claws, but seemed to freeze as it stared at me, as though trying to decide to attack. Three more scampered in. I turned my gun on them , ready to fire, when the strangest thing happened. Their faces separated in half, literally splitting apart all the way down to the bases of their necks, and long, plant-like matter ripped up their throats and replaced the heads, covered in little teeth and containing long tendrils that came slicing at me. I jumped back, momentarily surprised by the fact that Simmons actually had _Las Plagas_ hanging around his building. Difficult at best, controlling them, even if you were infected, was almost possible. It took a lot of skill to force them to do what you wanted, and you only had until the Plagas themselves took control over you to make them do your bidding. And then they returned to their increasingly nasty business of infecting other things by shoving Plagas babies down the throats of their victims. I had seen a few over the course of my life, and it was not something I was ever interested in experiencing or seeing again.

These, however, looked at me like I was lunch. Perhaps I would have been, if I was some defenseless civilian that couldn't raise a hand to protect myself. But I steadily fired one round into the Plagas of one of the dogs, while everyone else opened fire on the others. Strangely, the fact that so many dogs had been infected had been more depressing to me than the people – of course, the same was true on Television and movies. People die, and it may or may not be sad, depending on who they were. But a dog die, or a wolf, or a cat, or something, and it was like someone plunged an icicle into your heart.

Innocence. The innocence of an animal was something even humans could love, admire, and grieve for.

"How inconvenient," I growled, turning my attention to a recuperating Simmons. He bared his teeth at me in a kind of snarl. I shot him too, in the head. It would at least distract him for a little while. We didn't have the time to cut him apart now, and something told me that we didn't have the bullets to wage another war against him, and also that Leon wasn't going to be holding up for too much longer. Unconscious or not, his wounds were wounds and he wasn't in the best condition otherwise.

"Let's go," I snapped at Chris, who stepped towards Simmons to further attack him. He turned to look at me with eyes blazing with vengeance. I paused for a second, blinked, then turned away to leave. "Before or after your friend dies. It's your choice," I said coldly, with a hint of my usual cockiness. It was enough to make Chris follow.

I had a second thought. This building was filled with infected things and Las Plagas, and leaving it standing with them alive still inside it, for some innocent person to come stumbling across, wasn't a good idea. Another outbreak would probably pitch the world into a wide-spread panic that couldn't be stopped, and if we simply left these all behind, living and breathing, we would be participants (although perhaps unintentional and unwilling) in the next disaster. I wasn't going to bother fooling myself into thinking that there wouldn't be a 'next'. There was _always_ a next, and until every last human being had been infected or killed, there would always be someone wanting to cause harm and destroy cities, countries… worlds.

"Anyone have an incendiary grenade?" I asked. Around us were walls, some made of stone, but there were bodies everywhere. Organic bodies, made of flesh, muscle, skin… they burned. Wood was somewhere in the walls, and as long as these bodies burned hot enough, it would catch. The ceiling was some kind of non-ceramic plaster, perfect for catching fire and spreading. All we needed was a source.

The woman nodded, handing me over three grenades.

"Go," I ordered. Get some distance first, then let them loose. Three would burn well. Chris grabbed Leon's unconscious body and carried him over his shoulder, keeping one hand free for his gun if he needed to. I threw all three, one at a time.

And ran like hell.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Oooh... some grossness... blood... ick... etc . The usual. (:

Author's Note: Yeah I literally plowed through two chapters after writing that and saw how different it was... I was basing Wesker knowledge off of Chris's campaign when he reacted with such anger over what Chris said. o: But now I know! Anyway, switching to Piers, for the sole purpose of wanting to... and besides... it's fun this way. c: Shorter than last... ran out of time.

* * *

**PIERS POV**

The first grenades went off with a stunning impact. I pitched forward, the shockwave hitting my back, and skidded in a daze for several feet before I gathered my wits back about me. I glanced around as I darted back to my feet, ears ringing too much to hear, and noticed that Chris, due to his superior size and weight, plus the extra burden, had only stumbled a little. I began to run again, glancing back at the fire that had immediately begun to lap at the bodies all around. I hoped the fire killed what remained of the guy – Simmons apparently - and that we wouldn't run into anymore difficulties trying to escape. I had seen the bodies of what _seemed_ to be tortured zombies, though I doubted they actually cared or even noticed. I had also seen the _Las Plagas_from the killed dog, the mutated scientist, who was simply a J'avo with a huge arm, and a few other creepy-crawlies. Which meant there were probably quite a few more jumbled all around here. With any luck, they would burn.

That led me back to my conscious thoughts, and I kept following with my gun drawn and ready until I felt a tingle down my spine. We were at the door already, but I felt like something was behind me. The discomfort was dangerous. I glanced around, just in time to see a medium sized, winged _thing_come flying at my face. I ducked, shouting ahead for everyone to watch out.

Their reaction was immediate, as would be expected from well-trained soldiers – though the majority of them weren't soldiers. The brunette woman was, as far as I knew, a civilian, and Jake was a mercenary, Sherry some kind of protective agent or other – I had no idea what the organization she worked for did or even was, for that matter. I wasn't even aware that both of them had something special up their sleeves, but then again, that wouldn't really matter, either.

Everyone hit the ground in a roll, except Chris who simply dropped to his knees and covered Leon's body, raising his weapon.

The flying thing had four wings, a honey-colouring that reminded me of the infection-sacs on many of the mutated creatures, with a thin, grey film covering the empty spots. Its eyes were plentiful, red, and angry, it's mouth enormous – literally. The distance between its upper jaw and its lower jaw could fit a meter-stick, though it wasn't very wide. Its teeth were something from another world. Thin, needle-like fangs filled its mouth, and it had a tongue that looked almost like it was barbed. It had no legs. The creature was practically all jaw and wing.

It let out a terrible screech and came lunging again. We shot it, butt it simply dodged to the left and right, and whipped right towards my face. I rolled, seeing teeth flashing just beside my eyes. I slammed my arm into it and it seemed to slow. Enough to put a few bullets in it before it could recover enough to dodge.

It lay in a mess on the ground, dying.

"What the hell is that?" Jake growled, tapping it with the top of his boot in clear disgust. I shook my head and shrugged, looking at it, wondering if it was another experiment. That's just what we needed. Experimental zombie-mutations flying or running around, getting loose in the street. Hopefully this was the only one that had managed to get away for the most part. There could be others around, but the fire was growing and they would at least get burned on the way through, and fire was extremely strong against these creatures.

"I don't know. Let's move before we find another one," the Captain ordered, glancing my way with studying eyes as though to check if I had been injured or not.

The ceiling had grown shaky by the time we made our way out, and I looked back in time to see parts of it starting to fall apart due to the damage. At street level, we were met with something quite unexpected.

People were running everywhere. Not soldiers or scientists or enemies, but regular people. I immediately noticed, that despite being civilians, something wasn't right with all of them. Their skin was little grey around the edges and their eyes were dark brown – or even red. And people ran away from them, screaming in panic. Two of them caught up with an older man, knocking him to the ground. The climbed on top of him, jerky and animalistic in their movements, and something exploded from one of their mouths. The gaping grey tentacles of _Las Plagas_.

Cold hard dread knotted in my stomach. We were too late. It had already been released, and it was starting to spread like wildfire. In front of me, my Captain stiffened. This was all too familiar for him.

"Don't shoot, or they'll all attack us. Let's just try to get away first," he said grimly, as I started to put my sights on the thing trying to infect the man. I looked at him with something between horror and shock, and he met my gaze, perhaps a bit unsteadily. "We can't protect anyone if we're dead," he said. "There are already too many of them," he added, and I looked around closer. He was right.

Everywhere people were being knocked to the ground, as dozens upon dozens, maybe hundreds, of infected swarmed around. One rammed a parasite down a screaming woman's throat, who immediately stopped and let out a choking gurgle. I shuddered as she thrashed and writhed, eyes rolling back.

Zombies were one thing. These were another completely, and I felt the shaky churning of my stomach as people were force-fed infections and essentially choking before it gained control of their nervous systems. People could fight it off for a time, if they were strong enough and were aware of what was going on. But like this, it was almost impossible. It was already the proper size, already capable of taking complete control over the victim. I had read the files on them, and knew I'd rather get torn apart by regular zombies than ever have to go through what these people were.

Somehow we hadn't been spotted yet, but it was only a matter of time. The number of civilians was going down tenfold, half of them already infected at the very least. It was horrifically fast. I wondered if the bomb that had gone off in that city, containing the virus, had spread just as quickly?

Most likely, due to the numbers of deaths...

I heard a hissing sound.

I turned, staring down the red eyes of a former civilian.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Pain maybe. And icky Plagas!

Author's Note:I'm not sure whether to bring in Ada or not... Maybe I will, maybe I won't... not in this chapter anyway. Also, happy day because I got a college acceptance and scholarship deal today. ^^

Therefore, a fun little "out-of-the-box" chapter! You'll see why. (:

* * *

**UNKNOWN POV**

My movements were sluggish at times. My mind bogged with lethargy, the only thing that caught my attention was prey. It didn't really matter what kind of prey. Whether the multi-eyed, mutated creatures, or the slow, stumbling, bleeding and brain-dead ones, they were both a little dull. They didn't put up a fight, especially the latter. The multi-eyed might shoot or slash, but they were no match. It wasn't that I had anything against them - from time to time, I even worked with them, when I was so ordered by a more powerful creature that somehow got into my mind - but they filled my thirst for blood and pain and killing. Not enough. The third prey was the best. Even more than the defenseless animals that occasionally strayed my path. They walked on two legs, much like the first, but had neither multi-eyes or slow, stumbling movements. They were fast, strong, thinking - like myself. And had a survival instinct greater than my own.

They had wounded me. The first to have done so.

The two... creatures. It had angered me at first, and now intrigued me. I thirsted for their blood, to find the difference within them. What made them stronger? They were much more fragile than myself, yet resilient. Powerful. They were my target. I could sense their presence, because their blood, different from the others, was potent in the air. My claws at my side clicked against my armoured skin - my first lie of defense.

Their bullets had made little issue with it, though I had a few moments where my defense had gone down and my innards had been wounded. Not gravely. My creator had made me as powerful and indestructible as he could...

Before I had killed him.

It was in my nature, after all. I was the ultimate killer - I must hold up to my job.

And so I followed their scents, into a land filled with red-eyes. These were new. I had seem them little before. They ran, faster than the brain-deads, lunging to knock down regular creatures. I watched in disinterest as a creature was expelled from their throats. Some were aware of my presence, and I tore them apart with my claw. I savored the feel of the life leaving their bodies, and deposited what remained on the cold, hard ground. They were just in the way, and my true enemy was somewhere up ahead. The only ones I wanted to battle.

It was lovely, exciting chaos. I walked like a warden, senses alert, my sight finally falling upon my target. In the middle of it all. There were several other normals with them, and I recognized one as one that had fought me before and caused me great damages. I wondered where the other normal went. Dead? There was an unmoving body among them, hardly worth my time or interest. Dead or dying, it would offer me no real excitement.

One turned and saw me. It let out a rush of sound that I translated into a warning, and the others looked at me as well. For a moment I saw fear. Then anger. Then frustration. Were they not excited at the battle? I saw red-eyes descending on them, and felt a rage.

They were mine to kill. Mine alone.

I charged forward, smashing red-eyes out of the way and to the ground, claws ready to extend and grab. I found my target. The normal male I had tried to kill again and again. His eyes had always been fearless, and looked at me with the calculating way of a trained killer. If he had been created with my powers, perhaps he could have beaten me before. I launched out my claws to grab him, and as expected, he rolled out of the way. And blasted me with one of the more over-charged guns that he carried, jerking me back half an inch before I steadied. It was a slight stinging, but it had not pierced my flesh, and it would not stop me or kill me.

It did, however, send the other normals for their weapons, and suddenly being blasted at by each, save for the dead or unconscious one. I growled as bullets embedded in some of my open flesh, which did indeed hurt, but I simply found another target - one of the smaller males that I had not seen before, and sent my claws out at him. Having had no previous incidents of seeing him fight, I hadn't expected anything. He dodged as well, and I knew he too was a formidable normal.

That left me open to more shots, and I knew I would need to take out at least two of the shooters so that I didn't keep getting knocked back by the bullets. One was the woman. Making a quick notion in the opposite direction, I managed to snag her with my claws. She was not one of the ones from the beginning of my hunt, but the one who had aided my real targets at the burning yard. With my little knowledge of the places around and of the world in general, I could only apply faces to memory and nothing more. I gave no names, except generalizations. Gender specifics has been something I have only just recently been able to notice - from when the woman had controlled my mind.

She struggled against me, and again I was being blasted by an even greater torrent of bullets. I snarled, a deep, roaring sound from somewhere deep in my chest. I tried to crush her, but she had managed to twist out of my grip and kick away. She shot me at close range with the barrel of her high-power gun, and my body jolted back against my will. She got away before I could stop her, and a lucky shot caught my pressure point.

It was an area in my chest, near where a heart should be. Some could call it a heart. It was protected by a thin layer of tough skin, but if that got ripped away, it would enter my life source and kill me. I made me stumble over, stunned for a moment, trying to prevent more damage against the heart. They assumed I was down for good, and continued shooting with renewed vengeance. The stinging on my body made me rethink, for a moment, why I had come here with so many normals around to fight against me. It was too much at once, and they knew how to break free of my grip.

I snarled again, a burst of rage surging through me. These fragile creatures continued to drive me back. What made them so strong against me, a natural killer from creation, and almost indestructible on the outside?

I had to leave for now. And I would come back when they least expected it. It was too risky to fight out here in the midst of a red-eyed city, and I must regenerate my strength. I would kill them all, later. But not without leaving behind a parting gift.

One was standing almost protectively over the fallen body. He was partly distracted. Lunging for them, however, wouldn't get me far. I saw rubble from a burning machine - something the normals used to ride beyond their usual speed, and grabbed it. Taking a second to revel in satisfaction at the surprise in their eyes, I sent it flying straight for them. And then I jumped away, not wasting time to see whether it had hit my mark or not.

Some part of me hoped it hadn't.

I wanted to kill them later, too.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Pain maybe. And icky Plagas!

Author's Note: Well actually it was Ustanak... however it's spelled... can never spell it right. xD And thanks! Next chapter. o: Then back to Leon POV I think. (: I'm not a tank-master so excuse me if I got any of it wrong.

* * *

**CHRIS POV**

A car. A freaking car was flying at my head. I had just enough time to be aware of that before my instincts kicked it, and grabbing Leon, I rolled towards it, covering his body at the last second. It hit the ground mere centimeters from us, where we had been just moments before, and the only reason we didn't get blasted by debris and glass was that it had already been burned to an almost worthless crisp, the windows having been blown out before now, its metal frame crumbling away useless as it skidded away from us over the ground.

I took a second to breathe, then aimed my gun towards where the mutant had been. It had fled. Whatever it was had gone now, and I let out a sigh of relief before looking around to make sure everyone else was still alive.

"Everyone alright?" I asked professionally, noting the hundreds of spent shells on the ground. It was a huge waste, and already what remained of the plagas victims were coming towards us again, after having been momentarily driven back by the mutant attacking and the torrent of gunfire. There were many of them, and most of the fleeing civilians had already been taken down.

I let out a harsh breath and stood slowly, glancing around. I saw a tank, still smoldering from the tip, with a dead soldier hanging out of the hatch. Running out of here seemed impossible, but driving out of here, in an armoured vehicle at that…

"Get to the tank!" I shouted, carrying my friend's shockingly light body again. I could feel his ribs pressing against my hand, and sensed that physical wounds weren't going to be the only thing threatening his life, if we didn't get someplace safe soon to take care of everything else. Internal bleeding was a possibility, though I wasn't sure it was likely seeing as he hadn't started coughing up blood (even though unconscious), but I could never know for sure unless I really checked. It was better that he was unconscious, and I hoped Simmons burned to death in great agony for everything he had done. The worthless creature…

I saw Jake taking down plagas with his bare fists, with combatant skills that even I, in all my training and experience in fighting zombies and the kinds of apocalypses that made even the bravest men wet the beds at night, could not mirror. Was it his father, or someone else, who had changed his genetic makeup to strengthen him or make him faster? Stronger?

We had restricted our shooting to plagas directly in our way or getting too close around us, helping to conserve much needed ammunition. How we even had anything left, after dealing with Simmons and what Jake called Ustanank was beyond me. I was just glad we had made it to the tank, because my shoulder and back was starting to throb. He wasn't all that heavy, but all weights would eventually start to drag you down and wear the muscles after awhile.

Piers had to pull the body out of the hatch, and I was just going to warn him to be careful, because he had to be dead for a reason, when a hand hit the young sniper across the face and he fell from the tank to the hard ground. What climbed out wasn't plagas, but the second wave of zombies – the faster, smarter kind. They could run, lunge, and even dodge bullets at the last second. I can't say how many headshots I've missed trying to shoot them, only to have them jerk to one side at the last minute and dodge it. They were also extremely vicious, by choice, and not just by nature. Back with Sheva in parts of our missions, there had been a few of them mixed in with the plagas that had nearly gotten us into trouble once or twice.

What they were doing here, in the midst of all this chaos, was beyond me. And what were they doing _inside_ the tank? Was it another strand that Simmons had released into the city? I knew from scientists that that strand was the T-Virus, but it didn't completely destroy all brain function. It let them think and even plan, giving them the most basic abilities to turn them into major pains in the asses.

I shot at one, and it immediately dropped down from the tank to dodge the shot and landed on a dazed Piers. The sniper managed to wedge his gun between the zombie's face and his own as he struggled with it, narrowly avoiding a bite.

I felt a renewed outrage, shooting at it more, and probably catching the attention of every remaining plagas in the city. So be it. I wasn't going to let my partner get bit. Around the fourth shot I managed to drill a bullet into its brain and it rolled to the side, dead again at last. I wondered, if there was such a thing as spirits and heaven and God (or many gods), since due to the many things I had seen, my faith had wavered greatly, if their spirits went to heaven when they died of the infection or when someone put their zombie-bodies down. I surely hoped it was the former… or maybe not. Something told me looking down from the stars and seeing your own body go killing your friends and family and other people wasn't the greatest gift to experience. Enough philosophy, there was one more still around.

Or was.

I turned in time to see Sherry shoot it down with what looked like a magnum on steroids. Huh. I would've expected the gun's kick to knock her flat.

"Piers, you okay?" I asked, turning to the sniper who was getting stiffly to his feet. He glanced at me and nodded, and I guessed he was just going to be bruised for awhile from the rough landing. Somehow, none of us had died yet. It seemed wherever Piers and I had gone, and whoever we'd been with, simply _died_. Murdered. All of them.

I swallowed hard, forcing the memories out of my head and ordered myself to keep my attention on the present. I needed to keep a clear head if we were going to get out of here alive.

Some part of me considered calling in for help, but I wasn't too sure we would be able to get through. They were probably at the border of the cities infected, keeping back the plagas. Our best bet was to move to the closest border and meet up with the remainder of the BSAA there.

Climbing into the hull of the tank (which was a lot less roomy than they often showed on television) was extremely problematic and I almost fell once or twice. We closed the hatch, and were plunged into darkness until Piers managed to find the controls. Fortunately, it still worked. The rumbling of the machinery was a bit of a relief compared to the endless snarls and growls of the plagas.

Safe for now. Unless Simmons found us, in which case it would be a bit like shooting fish in a barrel…


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Fun whumpage.

Author's Note: Back to the main character, now. (: Also, I don't type well in female point of view, which is weird, seeing as I'm female... just a quirk - I prefer writing males. o: Cliff hangers? I'm a horrible person... and it's kinda short... I have one more day of finals and like... five projects to finish (freaking hell, teachers, way to set them up all at the same time), and then I should be having plenty of time. :D

* * *

**LEON POV**

I woke up, chest hitching with pain as I drew in a breath. It wasn't a 'my lungs are punctured and I'm dying' kind of pain, but it was actually pretty close. I'd had experience in that before and I didn't want to be quick to feel it again. Instead, it was more like my rubs had been ground into fine dust and the nerves were flaring into the red, hot, open air. It wasn't too far of a stretch, considering the days I've had. Hell, a mutant butterfly latching onto my ear and whispering songs wouldn't be a big flex of the imagination either. I was, however, not completely relieved that I had woken back up. The rest of the pain all came rushing back at me and my next exhale was a bit of a wheezing whine. I wanted to curl up in some dark, cold corner and just die. Unfortunately, I was not alone...

"Leon? You still breathing?" someone said in an easy-going manner, and I felt embarrassed at the cry of pain I had allowed to escape. I kept my eyes squinted tightly shut, before I felt a jolting beneath me that sent my head spinning and pain picking up to the point that my breath was taken away. Completely.

I hacked and coughed, glaring into the air, until the aching reached a level so critical that my nerves must have given up and the area went numb.

"Easy," someone had turned me onto my side and some of the pressure on my chest lessened to the point that I could breathe. The first thing I really noticed was that it was dark... very dark. But after a few minutes I could make out a few lights, and then enough of the area around me to recognize that I was inside of a tank - I didn't really remember anything after the scientist dropped me so I was mostly just confused of how we got here. I saw Helena and Chris, and then Sherry a little ways further. Jake was near her. At the moment I couldn't gather up the usual testosterone-based aggression I got when I saw him.

I was too tired for that.

I swallowed a gathering of what was most likely blood, and shakily cleared my throat. "Where are we?" I sounded raspy, quiet, and coughed as soon as I'd spoken. Grimacing, I was starting to rethink whether I had punctured a lung. A hammer to the head would do the trick right now, and I simply wished someone would help out with that simple act. Either not me out until the morphine was pumping through my veins or drop me off in a ditch - at this point the concussion that was bound to be glaring through my dilated pupils was throbbing and sending my mind into a rush of uncoordinated, irrational thoughts. I wanted to say something else but it came out as a slurring sound, unintelligible. And then I needed air, having expelled it quickly in a rush of words.

"We'll have to wait and see... right now we're in a tank, trying to get to the edge of the city. An infection broke out thanks to Simmons and we're trying to get to the BSAA," Chris said, sitting close to my head. I tried to drink more water, and managed to spill more all over myself, but also got to swallow some down as well. It helped a little bit. I was drifting off into a haze, my vision blurred and a foggy world surrounding me.

And then a hand on my broken arm jolted me back into reality with a sharp jerk and a yelp of pain.

"Hold still, I'm looking," Jake growled at me, seeming impatient and annoyed. But he didn't look me in the face. I couldn't see his eyes.

"They set it already..." I said, groggy and weak. He said nothing, and only continued to search along the arm, from the wrist and up to the shoulder, which was tingling still.

"How did they break it in so many places?" He asked, making it sound like he was more interested in the idea - something he could research and study and then file back in the cabinets before moving on.

"It was a licker."

He grunted, then looked down at the leg which I couldn't feel anymore. I was glad. It had probably fallen asleep from me not moving it in so long. I didn't dare to move it and wake up the nerves that were bound to carry agonizing signals to my tired brain.

"And the leg?" He asked, in the same bored tone.

"Broken knee," I responded, my voice growing as thick as my head. What was the point of my body making me feel so tired if it wasn't going to allow me so much as sleep?

"Oh. Then..." He never got to finish, because in a split second, Piers had shouted at us all to hold on, and there was a terrible roaring sound from somewhere outside. I felt a jarring, and then two heavy bodies pinned me down, followed by a lot of falling, rolling, and movement that hurt like hell. I must have bashed my head again because the ringing increased into a dull roar and the stars came back in double-force.

I heard a sound that was a lot like a voice - and one I recognized as Simmons. Ah hell. That bastard wasn't dead yet?

And then I saw asphalt inches from my face.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Fun whumpage.

Author's Note: Asphalt is like... the road... xP... And yeah... dead tired, thank goodness it's Friday... (:

* * *

**LEON POV**

Face full of dirt and rock? Check. What next? I'd be doing myself a favour if I simply lay as still as a rock and let unconsciousness take me - they might even think I was dead, which, in some circumstances, would make them leave me alone. At least enough for my head to clear so I could think of something more resilient. It worked at first. Then I got swatted heavily to one side and a groan betrayed my will. I partially opened an eye, seeing a flailing creature that was taking the form of something similar to a T-Rex. Hah... 'T'... Get it? Perhaps cracking jokes was something I did under pressure, or pain, or just due to the concussion. It didn't seem to notice me, or at least, I didn't think it had. I also became aware of something lying across my chest - something firing a gun which had a kick that sent pain jolting through me at every shot.

I tried to sit up, but she refused to move.

"Keep still," Helena said quietly, keeping a firm hand plastered against my neck. "I can't drag you out of here by myself." Which was true. I couldn't get anywhere by myself, either. I tried to focus, through eyes and a vision that seemed to be as narrow and blurred as if I was seeing through a dirty straw. I noticed an upside down, burning, smoking tank... lots of bodies... light flashing from where guns were firing somewhere else.

I hoped everyone else was alive, though I was quickly distracted by T-Virosaurous stampeding into a building and roaring in agony. Someone must have given him a good shot to a soft spot (it seemed no mutations could create a form _without_ some kind of soft spot) because he was starting to return to his normal state. Everyone seemed to hesitate in his firing for a moment, as though thinking they had won. However, seeing as Simmons simply _kept coming back_, Helena shot him again with the magnum - or shotgun, I couldn't see clear enough to notice the huge difference between the guns, which should tell me something about my physical state... instead, I simply wanted a gun so I could jump into the fight.

"Let me shoot," I growled, my tone doing only a little to break past the sharp pain that reverberated through my words. Speaking reminded me that my lungs were currently pumped full of nails, or shards of glass, or some other thing that burned deep inside my chest... bone fragments, maybe.

She didn't hesitate. She handed me something medium size with a long barrel - though I couldn't really see it, I felt that it was a rifle of some kind. It would do. I fired in the general direction of Simmons and was rewarded with a very light kick and the sound of several bullets - if she had handed me something with any kind of kick then whatever remained of my body would probably fragment into little pieces.

Assault rifle. Versus sniper rifle... good for me.

Simmons didn't stay down for long. In a moment, there was a terrible, burning rush of power, and then he was turning back into the dinosaur, which even had an extra-wide and long tail to boot. It roared - naturally, he was prone to his bouts of extreme, loud, irritating melodrama that nearly sent me into unconsciousness with a blazing headache.

"Leon, stay awake," Helena's voice was a bit muffled, and I opened my eyes.

"I'm not sleeping..." I growled, focusing on the giant shadow that was Simmons, and fired away. I had no idea whether any of my misplaced and wildly aimed shots hit the target (though it would be hard not to, at his size), but I wasn't sure if they made any difference. These small bullets, as far as rifles go, probably made his skin tickle, and nothing more. It did, at least, make me feel like I was helping. Survivor of Raccoon City, Tall Oaks, Spain, the airport, and countless other misadventures, I wasn't going to suddenly become useless because of a few boo-boos.

At any other time, I would have seen the helicopter. This time, I simply felt the vibrations on the air and the thump-thump-thump sound as it pierced my hearing with aches and pains, and none of it registered. I did feel the gust of air, the ice cold water on my face, and see several humanoid figures landing on the ground nearby. I instinctively jerked my gun near them. Helena did the same, perhaps, but neither of us could fire in time to prevent the cold barrel of the gun from pressing against my head... and another one was pressing against her head as well. I froze, the rifle wrenched away from my numbing fingers. I wanted to speak but no words escaped my mouth before something let out a hissing, cackling sound, which scared the hell out of me. It didn't seem human.

There was a whistle - like they were calling a dog.

Dinosaur-Simmons had reverted back to his original form for the time being, bent under the gunfire. Something wrenched Helena away, and she snarled out in anger and protest, thrashing against the things. I would have fought too, when something grabbed me under my arms, if it wasn't for the way they wrenched too hard on my injured forearm and my world went blazing white with pain. I almost missed the sound of the others, not too far off, firing and crying out in surprise as they were ambushed by whatever these things were as well. They were covered from head to toe with black gear, and their eyes were bright red. Bug-eyed.

They hissed and crackled in their strange voices again, and my awareness seemed to drop another level. They threw us both into the helicopter. There were others all around, and more of those black-geared creatures roaming around. My eyes were drifting shut on me. They weren't extremely gentle, and my body had taken enough tolls over the past few days, all of which added up due to no rest. Damned Simmons and his parting issues.

Helena said something, but it was a drone in my ears and I didn't care anyway. I was already out.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Language, and the usual, maybe.

Author's Note: Meep meep. (:

* * *

**LEON POV**

As far as awakenings have gone, I've had better. Some part of my brain, the only part that still seemed functional, was receiving reports from my nerves that my body was currently being dipped in fire. That, however, was simply a reminder about how the rest of my week - or weeks - have been. I did wonder if I would be able to crawl or roll to the nearest emergency room - or even a chopping block. Either of those, or both, would work just fine. I bit back an animal-like cry of pain as I forced my eyes open to find out where I was. As far as evil villain lairs, this one wasn't that cruel-looking. Plain walls, floors, and ceilings. And I was even lying on something soft. How thoughtful. My broken bones weren't appreciating it as much as they should, and I gripped my injured arm against myself, feeling weak, shaky, and a little sick.

"Easy, Leon," Helena said somewhere near my head and she managed to blur into focus at my right. She had white bracelet, something plastic, around one wrist. A tag of some sort. I felt one around my wrist as well, and wondered if we were, in fact in some kind of makeshift hospital and not an enemy base. That didn't make sense. Did something actually _good_happen for a change?

If so then we'd have to leave as soon as possible. Everyone we met, everywhere we went, simply _die__d. _It had been proven.

"Where are we?" I asked, sounding very, very weak. Sickeningly weak. I didn't like that. How was I supposed to fight when I felt and was just as weak as I sounded? Even more so when there were people around to hear it. I considered sitting up, and made an effort, before forcibly remembering that my ribs were currently as fragile and weak as a newborn baby - and likely broken or fractured in some places as well. That wasn't comforting, considering the fact I still had to make an effort, albeit it, a rather vague effort - to breathe. One thing at a time.

"Stop that," she ordered, sounding surprisingly commanding. "Just lay still, you're just going to hurt yourself more if you don't." She looked up and around, as though feeling that someone was looking in and listening to our conversation. "As far as where we are, I don't know. They knocked us out before getting on the helicopter."

Or perhaps just her, because as far as I remembered, I had knocked myself out.

"Have you seen..."

"No, I haven't seen any of the others... and no one's come in yet since we've been here." Her voice was uneasy. Agents and soldiers and people with training or some kind of skill didn't deal well as prisoners. Typically, we just felt as though we could fight our way out of it, and hated to feel like dogs trapped in cages. It made us nervous, angry, afraid. Only amateurs played the prisoner part well - professionals were too good. It was obvious they knew what they were doing.

"You won't be harmed unless you try to hurt one of the guards. They're loyal to me, but very aggressive... it will be unwise to try and escape," a sharply familiar female voice said, and I lurched into a sitting position on reflex, repressing the pained shudder that threatened to follow the movement.

Ada stood there, her expression carefully blank. Two of the red-eyed, black-suited things stood around her, each carrying their own individual weapons. These must be the 'best of the best' as those went. So that meant that she had actually _rescued _us from Simmons. That also meant that things had gone badly, and Simmons was still alive and out there, probably laying havoc to every innocent person that crossed his path.

I must have been wobbling while sitting up, because Helena had to grab me by my shoulders to hold me steady.

My focus was still messed up. Beside me, Helena tensed. I was currently too slow to come up with the question, and it took me even longer to register that my partner had asked it out loud.

"Why are we here?"

No change of expression. Some people would fake 'puzzlement' or 'curiosity'; others would be confused, genuinely, even, as if they didn't know why they had made the choice to bring other people along. Ada, however, seemed completely indifferent to it all. If she had any feelings about it whatsoever, she kept them hidden carefully behind her veil - a veil so thick and so deep that it would take me at least another decade to crack through it. She gave a small smile, and I was reminded of what had come bursting out of the mutated-pod's back, naked and covered in slime... and the other that had been Helena's sister. Was Ada even human still? What had the transformation done to her?

"You're here because I don't want you to die. Your... friends... are here also, in different locations, also unharmed," she responded, then nodded her head at the guards. "Go." Whether they spoke English or not - I vaguely recalled that alien-like noise they had been using to communicate earlier - they turned and left the room. Her expression changed almost immediately, flickering with some human resemblance of sentiment. Thoughtfulness.

"You sure know how to get yourself in a lot of trouble, Leon. Have you ever considered taking a break?"

In any normal situation I would have come up with some kind of cheesy wise-ass response, but my body was more than happy to just remain completely still and not exert itself with words. Words required more air than simply breathing alone. I kept silent, inhaling, exhaling, and cradling an arm against myself. Perhaps if I did that more often then I wouldn't get into so many messes?

She frowned at me. Then tipped her head to one side, as though listening closely.

"Your lungs are hurt. How are you even breathing?"

Again, I didn't answer. But I didn't need to. As though to prove her point, my breath hitched again and jolted with pain. I twitched, repressed a shudder, breathed in too deeply, and managed to get my air back. Ugh.

I felt a sharp prickle in my good arm. A needle. My focus got about 10 times worse and I heard - or thought I heard - Helena shout out in protest. My pain was vanishing. Anesthesia or something. About time for some medical attention, so I could go out later and get myself beaten back over the place.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Language, and the usual, maybe.

Author's Note: Sorry I'm late... got busy. New schedule, no more study hall - I never realized I did that much work in study halls. o: Anyway. Short.. Again... Bite me. :P

* * *

**LEON POV**

Bliss... that's what it felt like. There was no pain, and I was floating in total warmth. Which told me that I was either dead or someone had removed my nerve cells, and in either case, I didn't have the ability to care. Since there wasn't pain, there wasn't worry, there wasn't sadness... there wasn't anything. I was enjoying myself, and of course, something had to come along and ruin it. It came in the form of an oxygen tube and a sudden rush of choking, coughing and gagging. I felt my muscles clench and my throat close in reflex as I tried to breathe on my own, the tube pressing against my throat. Apparently they didn't work very well when the patient began breathing on his own, because it felt more like I was getting my lungs pumped open. So much for painless.

My eyes shot open, and I was lying down and couldn't see well. My body was too sluggish and heavy for me to really control so I could only flail around weakly in an effort to get a hold of the tube. I tried to bite it. Normally I wouldn't have a panic reaction, but whatever pain-and-other drugs I was on must be stealing away anything that made me 'me'. So I lost it.

"Damn it, Leon, hold still!" A female voice snapped at me, and someone stopped me from moving around. I gagged more as someone pulled it out of my throat, and I was sure if I had had anything in my stomach before this, it would've come up. Breathing on my own seemed to clear my mind, and at the same time, render the painkillers or anesthetic just about useless. Life hated me. Or at least, it preferred that I spent my time in great discomfort. I was slightly breathless, and realized without the tube I couldn't completely catch enough air.

"Stop thrashing or you'll tear the stitches," the same female said, and I struggled to open my eyes fully. Helena looked tired and had splashes of blood all over her head. I couldn't tell if she was hurt. Wherever I was, it wasn't a hospital. The 'oxygen tube' was little more than something that was connected to a bag, and it was covered in what must be throat slime - eww.

"What..." I started, coughing. Apparently my throat was still working on its impression of Mars, because I couldn't get out another word without it threatening to close again.

A few mouthfuls of water allowed me to speak. "What happened?" Because all I remembered was being jabbed by a needle, before awakening to having something rammed down my throat, breathing for me, and choking me. I didn't really care for all that much of the in between - I just needed to know if I would be able to get up and go somewhere any time in the next month. We still had an evil man to kill, who just so happened to be behind the president's attack and the probably hundreds of thousands of people that were dying. Typical evil bastard. Was taking over the position that Wesker had left behind. How anyone thought killing thousands of people would end up helping the world... guess that's why we killed them.

"You had a punctured lung and there was an infection. Among everything else..." she trailed off, warily, and I struggled to shake away the cobwebs in my thoughts. Right. If this was America, I'd be in physical therapy for about six months - and then some.

"Where is..." I started.

"Everyone is here. They're safe as well. We've been trying to find Simmons. He tore through the border quarantine just outside the city and allowed the plagas to spread across the country. They tried to evacuate in time... but lost so many people. We've been getting communications that other countries are considering nuclear weapons - which might kill off Simmons, but there are still so many uninfected people out there..." she trailed off.

Oh. I understood. The BSAA could only stop so many people... and damned Simmons had managed to escape again. Through all of those soldiers, with the heavy weapons, he was still alive. Damn it.

"We need to stop him," I said, slowly starting to sit up, then winced at the fire in my chest. I went completely still, my head numb, ears ringing, as I waited for the throbbing to stop. Perhaps that's why she told me to take it easy. The stitches were likely the main cause of the burning. And the infection, which would be awesome when I had to run from the next giant, ugly, slobbering zombie. That was a general response to anything huge - turn around and run like hell. Me and everyone else.

"Stop being an idiot, you're going to get yourself killed if you keep pushing yourself so far," she scolded sharply, pushing me back down. I bit back waves of stress and frustration - she had a point, and my testosterone-based actions weren't always as helpful as my reasonable ones.

"We need to stop him, though," I added, but didn't try to move again. I'd give myself a day of rest. Just a day. Then I would get back to trying to kill Simmons.

Life couldn't find too many problems with that, could it?

Turns out it could. I'd learn the next day why I should have just stayed in bed.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Language, and the usual, maybe.

Author's Note: I like to input humour in my narrator's POV. (: Makes it more fun. And, of course, funny!

* * *

**LEON POV**

I tried to put some weight on my bad leg. For a moment there was a twitching resistance, and then I was plunging to the ground, knee jerking out from beneath me. Chris caught me, a few inches before my face would've hit the desk, and helped me straighten out. I had politely declined a cast, mostly because I needed to be able to have some mobility in my leg in order to do… anything… I had also declined a cast and sling for my arm, much to the displeasure of a few doctors, because it would be incredibly difficult to move anywhere with my immobilized elbow bouncing off the walls. I didn't like anything that restricted movement, and plaster was a part of that group. It may make the doctors frustrated, because any movement near the broken bones would only make them worse, but it was _my_body and I could destroy it however I pleased.

Whom ever said I wasn't irrational?

The only problem that currently mattered to me was that it hurt like hell. Either they were giving me something that _wasn't_painkillers, or I needed something stronger, because they weren't working. I'd had to stop taking those soon anyway. Shouldn't be a problem, seeing as they didn't do much. At least the antibiotics were working (once again according to the doctors), but I didn't feel much different with that either. It still felt like I was breathing through a straw.

They couldn't do much for the permanent damage to my lungs – that wasn't ever going to go away. It would heal as much as it could, but apparently I'd need some respiratory help whenever – if I ever did – I get back to America. That was going to be fun. Hunnigan was probably flipping out by now, having no heard from either Helena or I for… weeks, maybe.

She must think we were dead. Perhaps we would be within the next few days.

Simmons had gone under the radar. I was trying to do as much as I could in the meantime to get back into a physical condition good enough to help. So far, my main problems were walking and doing anything that involved more than one hand or arm.

"Well, if you hopped, you might be able to get across the room without face planting," Chris suggested helpfully, backing away in anticipation of a reaction. I simply shot him a look.

Putting weight on only one leg not by choice or exercise was rather difficult, with the knowledge that you simply _couldn't _lean off of it. My good leg was shaking beneath me, but every time I tried to walk forward I simply stumbled, lost my balance, or dropped. It made my forced physical rehab a lot more misery than it could have been. I felt scrawny and washed out, and rather useless – especially next to this muscular giant that was Chris. Of course, he had always been larger than me (and generally most other people), but I had lost a lot of everything.

Even muscle mass.

"I can do it," I growled stubbornly. If willpower was strength, then I might be doing better. My body had other plans. I put a tiny amount of weight on my bad leg and it immediately braced itself with a series of violent trembling, the knee joint about as stable as a toothpick. Maybe if I got back to the states I could exchange it for a prosthetic... hahah.

A fail safe against zombie bites.

A managed to wobble a few steps, then froze as the pain blared into my nervous system and nearly made me heave. See what I told you? Worthless drugs. I should file a lawsuit against the drug company.

Gradually I became aware that Chris was speaking to me, but it took me a moment to understand what exactly he was saying.

"Are you alright? Leon? Maybe you should take a break."

I must have almost fallen sometime in the process because he was helping to hold me up again. My body shook, and I forced myself to breathe out hard, to relive the tension left behind due to the pain. Not much happened. Damn those book characters that could meditate and get through anything... if anything I was just getting more and more dizzy, and my head swam.

"It's fine... just..." I didn't get to finish saying or thinking of the rest, because my limbs turned to jello and my thoughts decided that the floor would be a nice place to rest for a little while. And then I went out.

* * *

_Little while later..._

I overdid it. I woke up about six hours later, about the time when a bunch of alarms suddenly went off all over the place.

Someone burst into the medical bay and I hardly had time to flinch and cover, half panicked that it was some kind of invader, and threw up my one good arm to shield myself.

"We found Simmons. Well, he found us..."

A moment later the entire building shook violently, enough to jostle me to the floor. I rolled, struggled with myself, then was half pulled to my feet. The scar on Jake's face was as pronounced as ever, but for once he didn't seem to be acting cocky and arrogant. He seemed focus on the mission, and less inclined to infuriate everyone around him, if that was possible.

I staggered over myself trying to move.

"If you're going to fight, then take this," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of any emotion. He had a shotgun with the barrel sawed off - illegal, but incredibly good in killing things.

And right now I just wanted to kill things.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Language, and the usual, maybe.

Author's Note: So yeah. O: I've thought up various unique ways to kill Simmons and I'm still deciding. Also, there's a new show on television called The Following. If you like unique cop dramas you might like it.. It's on Fox. ^^

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**LEON POV**

I aimed as close as I could towards the giant eye of Simmons and fired. The kick knocked me flat on my ass. I blinked for a few seconds, startled, and then got my thoughts together. Simmons had turned to see what the latest attack was on its few sensitive areas, and let out a kind of roar that shook the balcony I was on. I began to scramble backwards, as fast as I could, dragging my leg along. Its claws tore the balcony clean off, nearly taking me along with it, and it was all I could do to lunge and slam into the side of the corridor. My body thrashed in pain, and I nearly lost my grip as my leg bounced off the hard, unforgiving beam. Somehow I managed to not hurtle the hundred or so feet to the ground, and dragged the rest of me up and into the hallway before he came back around for the next swing. It missed, otherwise they wouldn't fine any trace of me except the layers of blood coating monster-Simmons's claws. He roared again, a sound that pierced into my brain and made it throb for a moment, but I continued to half-crawl, half-roll out of his line of sight.

He either lost interest or had been attacked harder than before because he left me alone for the moment. It was enough time for me to push myself to my feet using a piece of rubble I had scavenge off the side of the building, and then limped using it as a cane or crutch. I had to find a more stable area to set up my shooting gallery, otherwise I wasn't going to last very long. I wasn't allowed in the front lines - probably because I moved slower than a crippled snail. Helpful I wasn't - useful I wasn't. I snarled a curse as the building shook again and I lurched to the ground.

I groaned, waited for the pain to recede, and lifted my head. I was on the fourth floor, and before me was a crumbled section of the building. Below, I could see plagas victims swarming, trying to attack the many guards of Ada's. The guards were extremely good - probably the best mutants I had ever seen. They were smart. Very smart. And they mutated when they were hurt. I saw some freaky stuff going on down there and I didn't want any part of it - I was just glad that the guard was on our side. If I had to fight against one of them, I was pretty sure I'd be dead in less than five seconds in my current state. Even physically fit and uninjured, I'd probably still have trouble. Hand to hand combat with a brick wall seemed to cover what fighting them would be.

"Leon."

The voice was shockingly calm, considering the situation, which told me there was only one person it could be. She walked easily around the giant, still crumbling hole in the middle of the fourth story, heals clicking against the floor. I could see the edge of her zipline-gun holstered at her hip, and she had a large-barrel magnum in her left hand. She didn't seem even the slightest bothered, hurt, or worried. Very typical of professional Ada Wong.

"Ada," I acknowledged, feeling the usual knot I got when I saw her. I wasn't sure what it was. Tension. Uncertainty. Never really knowing what it was she wanted from me, or what her plans were. She was mysterious like that.

She walked up beside me, and as considerate as she never was, manhandled me around so that I was stumbling in the other direction with a grunt of protest. I lurched unsteadily for a moment and she brushed against me enough that I had an idea she could be trying to keep me upright without ever being suspected of it. I grimaced, leaning on the rubble and tried to bite back anger at the pain.

"This way," she said, heading up a staircase I hadn't noticed before. With some rather intense discomfort I managed to follow, doing my best to make as little sound as possible in the process. Showing weakness to Ada was never a good idea, because if she had a plan to do something, she could easily use it against someone. I had naive doubts that she would do that to me (again), but sometimes it was hard to tell... especially with what Helena and I had found in the lab - the videos of what _looked_like Ada cocooning from a creature's back. Did that mean the real Ada had died? Or was there something more devious happening?

Everything seemed plenty confusing enough from where I was standing, but there seemed to be something a whole lot different going on here.

I got to the top, my head throbbing again due to the increased pressure in my skull. It gradually decreased until it was gone and I could focus and think. I was in a room, above Simmons, even, and there was - of all things - a turret mounted to the roof. I took a step towards it. It was above Simmons's range, unless he somehow managed to gain another twenty or so feet in height, and I had an almost direct shot to the ugly yellow sac on his back.

Perfect.

I turned to Ada.

She had vanished. Again. I tried not to scowl, and focus on the problem at hand. I couldn't really see too close, but the turret was equipped with a focus. Helena and Sheva were shooting on the second floor, getting out of the way whenever Simmons got too close. Chris, Piers, and Jake were all shooting on the ground, along with various mutated guards holding off both plagas and attacking Simmons.

I took aim at the yellow sac, and fired.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own _Resident Evil _or their characters. I do, however, use the characters and possible plot-line in a fictional, non-profit and original story.

Description: Takes place during _Resident Evil 6. _The mission went wrong. Leon and Helena were separated, and Leon finds himself trapped in the palm of a vengeful and sadistic enemy; the very one they had traveled across the world after. Simmons doesn't want Leon dead - not yet. How far will he go to break the agent? _This is written in first person point of view, from Leon's perspective._When you see a long line, that is either a section separation (out of content from in content) or a time break.

Rating Information: Language, and the usual, maybe.

Author's Note: Umm... yeah, I'm sorry... I got a concussion the other day, bad enough to pretty much debilitate me for a few days, so I'm sorry I didn't upgrade during that... I decided I wouldn't torture you with confused-sluggish-writing during that until it got better. All good now. Anyway, shall try and keep up. o: Sorry about that.

* * *

**LEON POV**

I opened fire. The bullets sprayed into the creature's flesh, sending up a spray of ooze. The screech of pain, echoing above the sounds of gunfire and explosions, was enough to tell me I had at least caused it some damage. Perhaps it would be enough to distract it from everyone below – I had just watched Chris get smacked in the chest and launched halfway across the ground. For a moment he didn't move, but then he slowly rolled and stumbled to his feet. Simmons, however, was screeching again as smoke and steam and some kind of fluid continued to stream out of the yellow sac – I was glad I wasn't in the way to get splattered by whatever it was. It looked like it was burning hot. The virus would create those little pockets of infection and simply burn their way right through the body. Soft spots. We were lucky that most of the mutated creatures we have run into since the first outbreak had at least one soft spot, otherwise none of us would be here…

Dragon-Simmons, clearly enraged, whipped around as though trying to figure out what was shooting him. That would've been a good, except for the fact that it's tail nearly wiped out the entire first floor on the opposite side of the building (it was shaped like a U). He didn't seem to have spotted me, but I didn't really want to push my luck. A dead turret would suck about as bad as a dead me, so I stopped firing and waited for him to get distracted again by the ground fire.

The sac had already started to heal – or, really, more of the virus flowed into it. The more the creatures lost, the less strong they were. I waited until it had solidified before opening fire once more. The second screech sent my ears ringing and quite nearly disoriented me completely, and I wavered. It was a good thing I did so, because a tail whipped the ground up around Simmons and sent debris flying up against the building – and me.

It was a reflexive response, not an aggressive one, so he hadn't found me. I simply had to drop to the ground to avoid getting my face smashed in by a couple hundred pounds of cement. It didn't stop pebbles and dust raining down over me, but I sneezed and coughed and waited for my eyes to stream the dust out of their sides. I blinked, wincing, as grit threatened to throb against my eyes. They were probably bloodshot, now, and it was a bit blurry to see out of them. Damn. My aim was already off anyway due to the fact I was so far from him. Gradually I recovered enough to sit up. I looked up.

The Plaga victim lunged at my face and knocked me backward, kneeling no my chest and stomach. I snarled, rushing in panic, and swatted at its face trying to keep its parasite from getting too close to my mouth. Of everything else that had happened, I did _not_ want to get infected with one of these again. I flinched as it raked it claws down my face, and could only be relieved that it wasn't a T-virus victim.

It whined a piercing, moaning wail that nearly froze me completely.

Snarling, blood was running down its mouth. I jerked to the side again, and its parasite missed my face just barely. Currently I could only stick one arm between myself and it. I wasn't strong enough to shove it off, and it was too heavy to allow me to move.

I writhed, smashed it on the side of the head, and it jerked back. I reached out with my good arm to find something – a knife, a dagger, a not-too-heavy piece of rubble. Instead, I cut my hand open on a large shard of glass, and then proceeded to lacerate all of my fingers in an effort to pick it up. This was going to hurt like hell. Its head came back around, plaga parasite flailing in excitement t infect me. I plunged the shard of glass right in the middle of the parasite – the former human's mouth – and felt the glass tear deeper into the flesh of my hand, grating along the bone. Its blood poured down my hand and arm, mixing with my own.

I winced, grunting in disgust, and writhed out from beneath its dead weight. It was dead. I crawled to the turret, checking behind me to make sure I wasn't going to have any other surprises. Nothing. I couldn't even have seen where that plaga had come from. Maybe he had been launched into the air with a bunch of the rubble – their bodies didn't feel as much pain so it wouldn't really have noticed the two dozen breaks it would have received landing up here.

I, however, wished I had a grenade. Or five… maybe I could launch it into the steaming opening of Simmons back and pop him from the inside. _That_ would be effective – I hoped.

Using the turret as a cane, I dragged myself to my feet. Ow. I was hard to close my hand back around the trigger part. I forced myself to close it, and opened fire again. Its eye was currently in range, and one of them simply burst out in a spray of ooze and blood.

Eww…

That got his attention. Dangerously so. His face turned up to where I was and he let out a screeching snarl of rage, claws thrashing at me to fall short just feet from me. I hadn't, when looking down on it, measured the length of its tail as a possible weapon it could use to hit me. It was far longer than its legs, and before I could even see it coming, it collided with the crevice I was on. I flew backwards, metal and rock and cobblestone exploded in around me. My head hit something hard and I had the vague knowledge of bells and whistles going off around me, like I was being drawn back to a memory of some kind of sports game.

Or maybe it was a blaringly annoying elementary school classroom, making the sounds in music. Either way, I felt the sounds rippling from noise to pain all the way down the base of my spine. Dust, smoke, ash… I coughed and choked and wheezed, all the while wondering if I was still in the building. With the strength it had hit me, I might have simply gone flying to another country.

I groaned.

Something near me echoed my noise.

I fell deathly silent and still, heart lurching, and my eyes shot open to find myself staring up at a wire dangling from a dusty ceiling. I tried to move my head as little as possible. My right side was pinned beneath a section of fallen ceiling. I couldn't see my legs beneath piles of dust and other crap. I felt and tasted blood in my mouth and did my best to spit it out.

Something groaned again.

Damn it.

A shadow flickered in the corner of my vision and I held my breath, hoping it would go away. My 'luck' had run out.


End file.
